Skinny Puppy: Local-eyzed in San Francisco

Upon recently seeing Skinny Puppy during their Greater Wrong of the Right tour I am left so astounded with information that I feel I cannot relay enough details to even come close to capturing what was more of a religious life experience than just another live concert. It has been twelve years since Skinny Puppy last graced the stage with their presence, their last tour being in support of their 1992 release Last Rites. Since I've been an avid fan of their music since 1987's Vivisect IV and had only seen them once before, I was rather excited about seeing the band again.

When we arrived at the venue the people milling about outside were eagerly awaiting the band. It almost seemed as if they were part of elite kind of party. There were lots of artists and San Francisco types, it was all very upscale and downscale at the same time. Some people appeared to want to be different than everyone else by dressing in black, yet there were so many people in black it was rather difficult to see any individuality at all. Ironically, the ones that weren't trying to stand out were the ones who were sticking out like sore thumbs. It was like an episode of The Twilight Zone where the hardcore is normal and the normal is strange.

Even though we arrived well after the opening band had performed (although we didn't know this at the time) the line outside was long, winding its way around the corner from the Regency Center, down the block and into the alleyway where the tour bus and a huge semi-truck (which was obviously carrying the band's immense amount of equipment) were parked. Since we couldn't hear any music emanating from the club, I assumed that we had made it in time for the opening act. Thinking we had plenty of time to spare, I began looking at the T-Shirts on sale outside and literally missed Skinny Puppy hitting the stage. It only took me a few seconds to realize that they were starting off the set with "Downsizer," one of the songs from their new album.

When I finally got inside the venue I could see what looked like a large podium from Hell planted in the middle of the stage. It was adorned with iron crossed over iron and a metal speaker and standing in the center of it was founding member drummer-turned-keyboardist Cevin Key. I could also see the guitarist from Static-X (not sure which member) brandishing a double-necked guitar ala Jimmy Page, albeit this one was minus the headstock and tuners. There was also a drummer lurking behind them, buried in what looked like a cage of bones. And pouring out of the monitors was the sound was of synthesized strings gurgling with blurbs and blips while heavy metal guitar thrashed down upon the audience who were screaming in ecstatic delight as the aural pain quickly filled the hall.

Even though words were coming over the speakers, frontman Ogre was nowhere to be seen, presumable lurking somewhere behind the stage. In his absence the main focus on the stage was a giant video projection of the most grotesque organic-mechanical images, scenes that would make the creators of Quake cringe. Starring up at the screen, I was nearly blinded by the lights flashing onto the crowd, all the while the tones were building up as the sound layered itself and got ever louder. Then the drums kicked in and I couldn't help but wonder, "Where is Ogre?"

No sooner had I asked myself that question than Ogre jumped onto the stage wearing a mask that was stretched to abnormality, looking like a cattle skull skin riddled with rabid botox injections. Mask covering his face, Ogre strutted the stage and started singing the words to "Downsizer," which is a song about corporate America selling out Americans in favor of outsourcing overseas to China or India. Needless to say, Ogre is obviously very pissed about that. As he unleashed his vitriol, he ran to the back of the stage and I noticed that his hands were covered in blood. In fact, he was wearing what looked like a worn out wife-beater muscle shirt stained in blood. And his pants, which looked like they were white at one time, were torn, gashed, bloodied and muddied. On his knees were kneepads, which was a good thing, too, as he was constantly slamming down onto his knees mid song. When he wasn't dropping to his knees Ogre strutted around the stage like some sick monster while the metal chords erupted over thick, earth-shaking subsonic sounds.